Andromeda
by SoftPurple Sherlockian
Summary: Prompt fill for wishingforaconsultingdetective: John and Sherlock end up on the roof of their flat because John is angry about the mess inside and so he chases Sherlock up there. They end up stargazing and Sherlock points out constellations and such and...well the ending is up to you ;)


Prompt fill for wishingforaconsultingdetective: John and Sherlock end up on the roof of their flat because John is angry about the mess inside and so he chases Sherlock up there. They end up stargazing and Sherlock points out constellations and such and...well the ending is up to you ;)

* * *

"Out!" John bellowed, his voice radiating throughout the flat. "Out! Out" Out"

"John," Sherlock started calmly, "be reasonable. I can't very well stop what I'm doing to help you tidy up. This is a very time sensitive experiment."

Sherlock's tone was setting the doctor's teeth on edge. He would feel more justified in screaming if Sherlock actually raised his voice too, but he wouldn't and John was becoming increasingly more annoyed at his flatmate's indifference to their living conditions and his refusal to row.

"Your experi-," he promptly shut his mouth and strode over to where the detective was peering into his microscope, about to place a drop of something onto the slide. John swiftly plucked the eyedropper from his friend's long fingers and threw it across the room where it shattered against the wall. "Sod your experiment!"

"John!" Sherlock FINALLY shouted and leapt to his feet.

Feeling a little bit better at having taken some of his anger out on Sherlock's equipment, John turned on his heel without another word and left the kitchen.

He'd just passed the sofa in the sitting room when he heard Sherlock behind him.

"That was completely unnecessary, John."

The smaller man kept walking without a backwards glance. Taking the steps two at a time, John went into his bedroom, the slam of the door cutting off any further protest the detective was going to make.

Sherlock stood in the sitting room, looking up at the closed door before glancing around the flat.

Even he was forced to admit to himself that it was in less than pristine condition. Truthfully it was rather frightening, now that he had been torn away from his microscope, he could see that.

There were half empty mugs on nearly every surface, books that had yet to be returned to the shelf sat in piles on the floor, cold case files were laying in stacks across the table…

The detective let out an irritated sigh and collected the cups, placing each one through a finger before making his way toward the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, he froze at the sight that greeted him in there. Dishes had overflowed from the sink and were now collecting on the countertop next to it.

He unceremoniously added the cups to the pile of plates and tried to decide where to even begin. As his mental list grew, Sherlock was beginning to understand why John had been so put out. He'd been working double shifts at the clinic nearly all week, whereas Sherlock had not had a case in the last four days.

The detective chastised himself and went to work on the sitting room first.

When he had finished alphabetising the books on the shelf, he walked over to the coffee table and gathered the files in his arms; they could be put in his bedroom for now.

Standing in the doorway, the detective admired his handiwork. It hadn't taken long to organise everything, it was more clutter than any real mess and the work went rather quickly once he'd actually started.

Washing up the dishes proved to be a bit more of a challenge, whether it was because of the actual physical labour that went into the task, or if because Sherlock's mind was wandering, the chore was repetitive and dull.

Scrub, scrub, rinse, put away, repeat.

The detective could practically hear his brain cells screaming in protest. He took to thinking of more pleasant things, primarily his flatmate.

When Sherlock had 'come back' as they no called it, their friendship had barely survived. Even now, some seven months later, things were still pretty shaky. They were working on it though, taking each day as it came, slowly rebuilding the trust that Sherlock had shattered when he fell.

With the last saucer washed and put in the drain to dry, the detective took three long strides and was on the other side of the room where he promptly cleaned up the pile of broken glass that had once been his eyedropper.

The flat wasn't immaculate by any stretch of the imagination, but it was…better.

Content with the progress that had been made, Sherlock opened the window and climbed onto the balcony. He toyed with the idea of closing it back, but decided against it in case John ventured out of his room and wondered where Sherlock had disappeared to.

The metal latter was cool to the touch, despite the warm summer air that engulfed it, and it chilled the detective's hands as he made his way up to the roof.

The sky was clear and the stars were rather beautiful tonight. Sherlock couldn't help but smile as he looked up at them.

He was standing near the edge, looking down into the streets below, the cars and pedestrians completely unaware of his presence as he peered at them going about their lives.

"Sherlock?"

The detective turned his head but did not move from his position. "John," he acknowledged before once again focusing his attention on the night sky.

"Sherlock." John repeated, and something in his voice caused the detective to glance back in the doctor's direction.

John was acting odd, approaching Sherlock with caution, one centimeter at a time with his arm extended and his eyes wide with terror.

"Look," the doctor started again, "I'm, I'm sorry I got angry. Just –" he paused and visibly swallowed. "The flat looks great, thank you. Now just back away from the edge, alright? I didn't mean to shout."

Understanding washed over the detective and he quickly rushed to his friend's side.

"John," he barely got the word out before he felt the smaller man's arms around him, pulling Sherlock closer to his chest and further from the edge of the building.

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock! Were you trying to give me a fucking heart attack? What the bloody hell are you doing up here?" He held Sherlock at arm's length, just far enough to see his face, but never breaking the contact.

Reassuringly, Sherlock tried explaining, "I was just looking at the stars."

His friend let out a disbelieving snort, "yeah, right, since when do you pass the time by looking at the sodding stars?"

Sherlock looked into John's eyes before answering, choosing his words wisely. He took a deep breath and started, "since I spent the last three years away from you." The detective felt a tug of emotion deep in his gut and rushed on before John could respond. "Every night," he took a ragged breath, "no matter where I was, I would stare at the stars and think about you. I wondered if you were looking up at them as well." He studied John's face, trying to read him, looking for any sign of emotion.

The doctor, sensing the turmoil his friend was going through, gave him a small smile, encouraging him to continue.

"Some nights," Sherlock went on, "I would look up at the moon and know that if you glanced up at it too, even for a second, that we would be seeing the same thing. The nights I was hundreds of kilometers away, it made me feel closer to home, like you weren't so far away." Sherlock finished and blushed at his expression of sentiment.

John had loosened his grasp from the detective's arms and took a step back. He didn't possess the deduction skills that Sherlock had, but even he could tell that what his friend was saying was sincere. He looked into the blue/green eyes of his friend and saw nothing but love.

Neither man could be sure who closed the distance between them, but they were both aware of how close they now were.

"John?"

"Just, shut up, yeah?"

John took his hand and tentatively placed it on the side of Sherlock's face, his thumb grazing over the features he's memorised several times over. The doctor curled around the detective's neck, his curls softer than John had previously imagined and pulled Sherlock in his direction. Not wanting to pressure the younger man into something he didn't want, John stopped just before their lips met, leaving the final decision to Sherlock.

The detective moved his eyes to John's mouth before capturing it with his own. There was no gnashing of teeth or tongues, no sloppy exchange of fluids. Rather it was a soft melding of their lips, a rhythmic dance that was shy and questioning. They moved together effortlessly, as if they were designed for this sole purpose alone.

When they finally parted, each man stared at the other, not quite sure what to say.

It was John who finally broke the silence. "Okay?"

Sherlock mmm'd his approval and both men laughed.

The detective had a lopsided grin and sat down on the concrete, grabbing John's hand and pulling him down to join him.

The pair stretched out on the roof, John with his hands behind his head, and Sherlock propped up on his elbows.

"So," the doctor muttered, "the stars, huh?"

"Mmm."

Sherlock moved one of his hands and pointed at a cluster of stars. "Do you see that one right there? The one a bit brighter than the ones around it?"

John followed the detective's long index finger and confirmed that they were indeed looking at the same thing.

"That's called Cor Caroli, it's the brightest star in the Canes Venatici constellation." The ebony haired man turned a fraction and looked at John's profile out of the corner of his eye, he was smiling and Sherlock couldn't help but showing off just a little.

"And that," he moved his hand and pointed in the other direction, "is Archernar, it belongs to Eridanus."

John looked up at the man next to him and laughed, "All this from the man who deleted the solar system." He nudged Sherlock softly and continued chuckling.

"I'm glad you're amused," Sherlock responded, his tone letting John know that he was in good spirits.

The two stayed like that for a long time, looking up at the stars in a comfortable silence.

In a very serious tone, Sherlock started speaking. "I did it for you, you know." He fixed his gaze on Andromeda to avoid eye contact. "You thought the solar system was so important, the next day I went out and bought every astronomy book I could find. They're on the shelf downstairs."

John was speechless, that had been over five years ago. He propped himself up and leaned over directly in Sherlock's field of vision and whispered, "even then?"

"Mmm," was Sherlock's only answer.

There was a tightness that formed in John's throat and he couldn't have responded even is he had anything to say. Instead, he lowered his head and once again pressed their lips together in a loving kiss.

* * *

When the prompt included Sherlock on a roof, I mentally started screaming at him "NO! NO MORE ROOFS FOR YOU EVER!" and I figured that John would probably feel the same way.


End file.
